What am I to you? An ally? Competition? Some stupid damsel in distress? I know there's something about me you want. I can tell. You go all rigid when I'm around. Let's do it. Right now. Take off the masks. No secrets.

We are not in control. Every now and then life likes to reiterate that little point. Some people find such reminders disconcerting. They spend their lives in breathless pursuit of meaningless goals, hoping to forget everything they know about their own mortality. Some people anchor themselves to something larger. Religion, Art, Justice. Anything they deem significant in a life that's not. We are not in control. If we were, surely we'd know better than to care about anything.

Batman recently changed his costume and his style. But there's something more. He's not my dear old enemy at all. Because the man in the armor is an undersexed, sanctimonious dolt...who just threw me to the law for something I didn't even do.

That's a little inconsistent, you say, with my image as a bad girl. The kindness doesn't mesh with the cruelty. How can I be nasty and nice? You just can't figure me out? Hey, what did you expect? I'm a cat.

You know, the three of us have been living on the edge way too long. When we're not running from the police, we're fending off some costumed whack-job. Gotham is worse than ever. That gives us a choice -- we can get out, or band together.